


the price paid

by elegantstupidity



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-26 10:03:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13855503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantstupidity/pseuds/elegantstupidity
Summary: When two people spend as much time together as Ginny and Mike did, it was only natural that some of that time was spent asleep.aka: five times Ginny and Mike fell asleep together + one time they woke up together





	the price paid

**Author's Note:**

> title: Ernest Hemingway quote, "This was _the price you paid_ for sleeping together. This was the end of the trap. This was what people got for loving each other."

**Phoenix, AZ**

 

Ginny was starting to regret the cool shower she’d taken immediately upon returning to her hotel room. Not that she hadn’t needed it. 

After playing nearly eight innings in the Arizona heat—the retractable roof of Chase Field on the fritz because of course it was—she was rank. It didn’t help that the Diamondbacks still didn’t have a separate bathroom in the visitors’ clubhouse for her. Rather than hold up the whole team, she’d had to stew in her own sweat and funk on the bus ride back to the hotel. 

Even Blip had refused to sit next to her. 

Walking into her air conditioned room had been a blessing, though Ginny’d only appreciated it for a few seconds before stripping down and disappearing into the shower. 

Now, though, she was thinking the air conditioning was more of a curse. 

Shivering, she stood before the little panel mounted on the wall. It didn’t matter how many buttons she pushed, the rush of cool air from the vent wouldn’t stop or get any warmer. If anything, it had gotten colder. 

“It’s really not working,” Ginny informed the hotel’s operator, the handset of her room’s phone cradled between her shoulder and her ear. She’d hold it, but she’d pulled her arms into her sweater to try and conserve body heat. 

That also wasn’t working. 

Maybe if there were fewer holes in the knit, it’d be more effective. Ginny vowed to put her foot down on the whole “distressed” look from here on out.

The woman on the other end of the line tsked in sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Baker. We’ve called the repairman, but he won’t be able to come out until the morning.”

Ginny sighed. “And there are no other available rooms?” Another round of shivers wracked her body, in spite of the fact that she was wearing every clean piece of clothing left in her suitcase. Not that there had been much left. They were on the tail end of a nine day road trip and were supposed to head back to San Diego tomorrow. 

The tapping of a keyboard sounded faintly over the line as the operator checked for the third time. For the third time, the answer was the same. “Unfortunately, no. There are several conventions in town this weekend and we’re overbooked as is. I could check and see if there’s a space heater somewhere?” she tacked on hopefully. 

Ginny sighed for approximately the fifteenth time. “That’s all right. It’s just one night. Thanks for your help.”

Now that she wasn’t concentrating on the conversation, there was nothing else for Ginny to focus on other than how cold she was. Really fucking cold. Tucking her chilled fingers under her arms, she wracked her brain for a solution to this problem. Either through creative problem solving or sheer stubbornness, she was going to get through this.

She considered the nest of blankets she’d constructed on the bed. Unfortunately, blanket nests were more effective at trapping heat than generating it. And given the way she could barely feel her toes, Ginny didn’t have a lot of hope of doing that on her own.

The fluffy robe hanging off the back of the bathroom door was too damp to offer much warmth. Same went for all the towels. The only upside of that was that Ginny’s hair wasn’t dripping onto her shoulders, delivering extra shivers with every drop.

Maybe she could use the hairdryer to blow some feeling back into her fingers and toes...

No other solution presented itself, aside from layering on some of her dirty clothes, most of which were sweat soaked thanks to the lack of shower facilities available to her on the road. The thought made her shudder, and not from cold, which she supposed was a nice change of pace. 

Just as she reluctantly resolved to poke through her suitcase and search out the cleanest of her clothes for when she could feel her extremities again, there was a knock on her door. 

Pushing her arms back through the appropriate holes of her loose sweater—the tissue-thin fabric looked nice and could survive a week in her suitcase, but didn’t offer much warmth—Ginny crossed to the door, goosebumps breaking out every step of the way. 

If the shivers only multiplied at the sight through the peephole, at least Ginny wasn’t all that surprised. It was her standard reaction to the man standing in the hall. She didn’t even need to take a moment to calm herself before opening the door; shivers were just part of every day around Mike Lawson. 

“What?” she demanded, short and, dare she say it, icy as she addressed her captain. Nonetheless, she leaned into the warm air wafting in from the hall and told herself it wasn’t Mike’s radiant heat.

His brows jumped, used to a warmer reception, especially on evenings after she pitched and neglected to hit the town with the rest of the team. Those were the nights that Mike always found himself bouncing around his hotel room too. Until he came looking for Ginny, to do a post mortem on the game or watch trashy TV or just talk until their eyelids started to droop and they parted ways.

Apparently that time of the evening had come.

Mike was distracted from her prickliness pretty quickly. Probably aided by the blast of arctic air that blew past Ginny to hit him. 

“Jesus, Baker.” He shuddered, arms crossing over his chest in a way that he had to realize made him look supremely appealing. His flannel rolled up over his forearms, biceps deliciously filling out his sleeves, Mike Lawson looked like warmth personified. And Ginny could definitely use some warmth right about now. “Are you hiding a polar bear in there? You know you ca’t make it snow inside, right?”

“I know that,” she bit out, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

“Then what’s with the Arctic climate? You’re gonna freeze to death.” he demanded, leaning casually up against the doorframe. When she frowned sourly—in spite of what a tempting prospect he made; couldn’t have him knowing that—he rolled his eyes. “Turn the fucking heat up.”

“Huh,” she huffed, tapping a finger against her chin as if in deep thought. The acid in her tone, though, probably didn’t do much to sell the bit. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Mike’s brow furrowed even deeper and he pushed himself upright. After a moment of scrutiny, which Ginny did her best to bear without fidgeting, he brushed past her and strode into the room, going straight to the thermostat.

He jabbed at every button, cursing when some combination made even more cold air gush out of the vents. 

“Even I didn’t manage to do that,” Ginny observed blandly from her post just a few feet away. “And I think I hit every button on that thing.”

“Shut up,” he groused, though he did stop pressing buttons at random. Instead, he turned to the phone, abandoned on the foot of Ginny’s bed, and moved to pick it up. “Well, call down to the front desk, see if they can get you in another room—”

Ginny was already shaking her head. “There aren’t any available. And no one can get up here to fix it.” When Mike turned back to her, a little incredulous, she grinned. “I already checked. Catch up, old man.”

He rolled his eyes and cast his gaze around the room, clearly looking for another fix the way she had.

She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say next, but it certainly wasn’t, “How fast can you get packed up?”

“Um.” Ginny rocked back on her heels, eyes gone wide. As far as she knew, there were just a few scattered toiletries in the bathroom to gather, her phone charger on the night stand and her shoes in the closet. What she didn’t know, though, was if he was really asking what he was asking. 

Or, more accurately, she couldn’t quite believe he was asking what he was asking.

“C’mon. If I leave you here, and some clubbie has to come find you in the morning because you’ve frozen solid overnight and held us all up, I’m never gonna hear the end of it.”

She huffed out a laugh. “So chivalrous.”

“That’s me. Now come on and get your bag packed before my balls freeze off.”

“Oh my God,” Ginny sputtered, ducking into the bathroom before he could see the flush that took over her cheeks at the mere suggestion of Mike’s balls and everything that came with them.

Unfortunately, in the confines of Mike’s hotel room and especially after he emerged from the bathroom in his own pajamas—loose basketball shorts and one of his cut up muscle shirts; why did she think it wasn’t often he actually wore pajamas?—it became harder not to think about.

It became almost impossible once he joined her under the covers, and they were separated by only a bare foot of space on the cushy mattress. 

They hadn’t discussed this part. Hadn’t, in the hours they’d spent killing time since Ginny arrived in Mike’s room and burrowed straight under the blankets, spoken about the fact that they were about to fall asleep together. In the same bed. On purpose. 

She hadn’t thought they’d need to. How many times had they fallen asleep near one another? On planes and buses and even over the phone back in her first season; it was pretty run of the mill by now.

This didn’t feel run of the mill. This, closed into a private room, sharing one bed, was entirely different from drifting to sleep surrounded by the quiet chatter of their team and the machine hum of a jet’s engine.

Her heart felt like a hummingbird, ready to burst out of her chest. Or at least draw her closer to Mike and everything she wanted from him. Which was so, so much, even though she wasn’t supposed to.

So, to take her mind off all the things she wanted wrapped up in 220 pounds of major league catcher, Ginny concentrated on her game of Words With Friends. Mike reached over and turned off the light on his bedside table. 

She concentrated on the jumble of letters. He settled back against the pillows. 

She concentrated on trying to find a word that would put her ahead of Evelyn for good. Mike tossed and turned, searching for a comfortable position.

She concentrated on her phone so long, the screen went dark. Ginny had to scramble to unlock it again, for something to occupy her racing thoughts.

Mike’s huff cut through the too-close dark. “Baker, I swear to God—”

“Sorry,” she said, sheepishly relocking her phone. The room descended into full darkness. Or something much closer to it. Faint shafts of light seeped in through the gaps of the curtains and the alarm clock continued to glow dimly on the nightstand.

“Some of us need our beauty sleep.”

“Is that why you take so many naps?” she teased automatically, turning to her side and coming face to face with Mike’s fond annoyance. If she didn’t act like this was weird, maybe it wouldn’t be.

No, it was still weird. But good weird. The kind of weird where she could still make fun of him and coax out that fond grimace, which was such a fucking relief. 

He scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”

Mike didn’t bother to argue with her, letting the room grow quiet. Soon, his breathing evened out, and Ginny felt hers slow to match without even trying. Her eyes fluttered shut, but not before she took a good long look at Mike’s peaceful face, the stress lines that were so prominent in high stakes games smoothed to faint creases and the laugh lines that took over any time else. He was so close, his parted lips puffing out gentle puffs of air. It would be so, so easy—

Cheeks burning, Ginny rolled over, forced her mind to go blank, and prayed sleep would take her soon.

 

* * *

**Milwaukee, WI**

 

Mike had burst into the hallway, heading for safety before he fully understood what was happening. Actually, he wasn’t sure he’d ever fully understand what was happening. It was almost three in the morning, okay? His brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.

He skidded to a halt in front of the room whose number he told himself he hadn’t memorized the second he heard it assigned. Not in the event that something like... whatever the hell had gone down in his room happened. Just because he always liked knowing where the room’s occupant was. 

What? That wasn’t weird. 

Not weirder than staying in an actual haunted hotel, at least.

Which he still wasn’t prepared to admit was actually true.

Barely taking a moment to catch his breath or rue the fact that his credibility on this front—the actual years he had spent making fun of rookies and teammates too scared to stay at the Pfister—was going to take a real hit, Mike pounded on the door, in time to the rhythm of his racing heart.

When that door finally opened, his pulse began to calm. 

It was probably better if Mike didn’t scrutinize his reaction to Ginny Baker too closely. Didn’t keep him from doing it, but it would’ve been better for him.

In spite of the fact that it was well past her bedtime—it’d been well past her bedtime when the team rolled into the hotel an hour ago—she didn’t look as if she’d been asleep. To be fair, Mike hadn’t really given her much of a chance to settle in and get to sleep. 

Well, more accurately, whatever’d scared the living hell out of him hadn’t given her a chance. 

Ginny’s gaze trailed up and down his form, taking in his unbuttoned cuffs and bare feet, catching his undone belt buckle and sticking there for a beat too long. When her eyes met his again, a dark flush rode high on her cheekbones, but her chin lifted, daring him to comment. 

He didn’t. 

(It wasn’t like he had any room to judge her for ogling—God, he hope it was ogling. He was no better than her; attention lingering on the bare sliver of flesh across her hips, between the waistband of her pajama pants and the hem of her too-short tank top. Didn’t matter how often he’d seen her cozy and comfortable in her sleepwear, Mike never got enough of it.)

“Let me in,” he demanded instead, beyond ready to get out of the fucking hallway where it felt like anyone—or  _anything—_ could be watching.

“Uh, no?” she replied, blocking his way and squinting at him like he’d lost his mind. 

Maybe he had. 

“Jesus, Baker! I’m not going back to my room, so let me in.”

“Why aren’t you going back to your room?” she demanded, still not budging an inch. A trace of worry did kiss her brow, though that didn’t mean she was just going to fold because he told her to. Ginny wouldn’t be Ginny if she did.

He heaved a deep breath. “Look, I’m not saying they’re real, but if gh—”

“Ghosts?” she interrupted, looking far too delighted for the scare he’d just suffered.

He sighed. Heavily. Which was apparently answer enough for Ginny. 

“What happened to Mr. ‘The fucking hotel’s not haunted; now shut up and get in there and get to sleep?’” she teased, leaning against the doorjamb and otherwise looking far too smug for her own good. “I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

Mike glared balefully, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t,” he bit out, “but I don’t think whatever turned my shower on a minute ago cares.”

She blinked, clearly surprised that he’d come so close to admitting what he’d always—most recently less than an hour ago as the team pulled up to the hotel, fresh off their redeye flight from San Francisco—argued was impossible. But then she was rolling with it, her head tipping to the side as she studied him, an infuriating smirk pasted on her mouth. 

“Did you at least turn it off?”

“I didn’t even stop to grab my phone,” he admitted. 

Ginny laughed, but stepped back to allow him in. “Should I feel honored you came to me to save you from the big bad ghosts?”

He rolled his eyes, but the absolute delight on her face was hard to find truly irritating. "Everyone’s doubled up but you, me, and Al. And he snores."

"And I don’t?"

“Nope,” he replied, easily stepping inside as Ginny moved out of his way. As he passed, Mike did smirk a little and say, "You do talk in your sleep, though." It was safer than dwelling on the fact that he actually knew the answer to her question. Or the waft of her perfume that snared him as he went by.

"I do not!” she protested, closing the door behind him.

The click of the latch didn’t echo in the room, but it did through Mike’s brain. 

Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t like this was the first time he and Ginny had been in a room all by themselves; they did that basically every day once they bored everyone to tears with their exhaustive game prep. It wasn’t even the first time they’d been in a hotel room on their own. They hung out with one another pretty regularly on the road; this wasn’t unusual.

It felt unusual. 

And not just because Mike had been scared out of his room by faulty plumbing. 

“So, are you gonna tell me what happened?” 

Mike watched in amusement as Ginny flopped onto the foot of the bed, in spite of the way the blankets on her usual side—and the fact that he knew Ginny even had a usual side was not a problem, not at all—were pulled back and rumpled. Clearly, she had been in bed when he came pounding on her door. She seemed to melt in to the bed as it was, peering up at him curiously in a way that made him want to join her.

Instead, Mike crossed to the desk tucked into the corner of her room, settling into the chair like it was exactly where he wanted to be. She had to crane her head back to actually look at him. It opened up the long line of her throat, only to be swallowed up by the scoop neck of her tank.

“Well,” he began, trying to decide exactly how much he wanted to tell her. Of course, with the way she was looking at him, eyes bright and ready for a story, it wasn’t like he could brush the question aside. “I got into my room and started unpacking. The lights flickered a little bit, but I figured it was just the wiring—”

“Amateur mistake,” she interjected expertly.

Mike rolled his eyes but continued, “So I went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. I brushed my teeth and was just washing my face when I noticed the steam on the mirror.”

Ginny rolled onto her stomach, eyes wide. “Oh, no.”

“Yep. I hadn’t noticed over the running tap, but the shower had turned on, cranked all the way to scalding.” 

“There wasn’t anything written in the fog, was there?” She bounced onto her knees, leaning in like she was in danger of missing any of the gory details. Ginny’d scooted all the way to the near corner of the bed, eating up all the careful distance he’d put between them. She was so close Mike would hardly have to lean forward to scoop her up and settle her in his lap. 

He had a feeling she’d fit pretty well there, but tonight wasn’t the night to find out. 

“Funny enough,” he drawled, shoving away all thoughts of Ginny’s weight draped over his thighs, her curls caught up in his fist, “I did not stick around to find out.”

“Chicken,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “The ghost totally knew you were trash talking it on the bus.”

“Ghosts aren’t real, Baker.” 

“Oh, so what chased you outta your room, then?” One well-groomed brow arched in challenge.

Mike just shook his head, struggling to rein in the smile that wanted to take root. Eventually, he gave up, leaning back in the chair, feet planted firmly on the ground, to let her laugh at him.

Which she took full advantage of. He even joined in, the sound of their twined enjoyment—just a little strung out and raucous from sleep deprivation and nerves—like actual fucking music to his ears. 

When it began to fade away, it didn’t feel like a punch to the gut. But only because Ginny’s eyes remained on him, giddy and, even better, heated.

Up until she blinked, her cheeks going dark. God, he loved that look; cheeks flushed a rusty pink, lush lips parted, eyes wide like her interest took her by surprise every time. It certainly still surprised Mike; Ginny had her pick of anyone, why would she want him? 

She blinked again and looked down, signaling an end to the evening’s allotted flirting.

“Can you get dressed?” she muttered, eyes downcast. 

He raised a single brow, enjoying her discomfort as much she’d enjoyed his fear in the hall. Ginny might be done flirting for the night; didn’t mean Mike had to agree. “Get dressed? I am dressed, Baker.”

She lifted her head and glared, flapping a hand vaguely at his waist. He looked down and sure enough, there was his belt, still drooping from the loops, more suggestive than he’d ever actually intend. 

Well as long as they weren’t talking about that night last August, at least.

He straightened up, unsure if he should re-buckle it or take it off altogether. He knew it should be an easy decision, but he was so tired. And it wasn’t like he was going to sleep in his belt and jeans. 

Just like he wasn’t going back to sleep in that goddamn room. He’d sleep in the hall before he went back there. He certainly hoped he wouldn’t have to, that Ginny wouldn’t make him.

Mike wasn’t above begging. 

Luckily, Ginny seemed to arrive at the same conclusion before he worked himself up to it. 

With a decisive nod, she unfolded herself and held out her hand to Mike. He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. 

“Let’s go, old man,” she said, just a bit impatient.

“Go? Where?”

“To your room,” she said, like it should have been obvious. Which, to be clear, it was not. The only obvious thing about this was that they  _shouldn’t_  go anywhere near his room. Ginny pursed her lips and wiggled her fingers at him, trying to tempt him into taking hold of them. Like he wasn’t always tempted. “C’mon. You’re gonna need your phone. And something to sleep in. I promise I’ll protect you from the big, bad ghost.”

Which was exactly why Mike found himself dashing through the halls of one of Milwaukee’s oldest hotels for the second time of the night. Early morning. Whatever. 

This time, at least, he was right on Ginny Baker’s heels.

He nearly crashed into Ginny as she shakingly fed her keycard into the reader. Mike shifted uneasily at her back, checking over his shoulder, though some sane part of his mind told him he probably wouldn’t see a ghost coming. Because they didn’t exist. 

Probably.

Thank God the reader chose that moment to blink green, the door falling open before their combined urgency, and he and Ginny spilled into her room. 

If he latched the deadbolt and flipped the bar guard before hustling after his pitcher, that was his business.

Collapsing onto the bed beside her, he panted, “That was—”

“Amazing!”

“Terrifying.”

“Nuh uh!” she gasped, shooting upright to stare at down at him in open disbelief. “You were not scared!”

Mike just groaned. How couldn’t he have been scared by the light show they’d just been subjected to? Every single one of the lights had started flickering the instant the door swung shut behind him and Ginny. He was lucky he’d managed to snag a pair of sweats and his phones before he and Ginny had bolted back out the door. Hell, he was lucky they hadn’t been locked in that nightmare.  “You’re one of those maniacs who likes watching horror movies, aren’t you?”

“Liking scary movies does not make me a maniac,” she argued, scooting herself up so she could crawl under the covers. Which was Mike’s cue to get ready for bed himself. 

When he came back out of the bathroom, face re-washed and the scent of Ginny’s lotion fresh in his nose, she was curled up on her side of the bed, totally at ease. 

That illusion was shattered, though, when he climbed in, making sure to hug his side of the mattress. He was under no illusions that he’d stay there through the night, but he could pretend while he was awake. Ginny didn’t get the memo, though. Within just a few moments, she rolled closer to him, her hand stretching across the remaining space to seek out his. Her fingers shook, just a little. 

“Not so tough now, huh, rookie?” he teased. If only to keep himself from doing something far worse.

“Shut up and go to sleep,” she grumbled, even as her forehead tipped forward to brush against his shoulder.

Mike had clearly demonstrated his readiness to allow Ginny to talk him into whatever she wanted, so it was no surprise that he listened to her yet again. Anyway, there were far worse things to do than fall asleep with Ginny Baker’s fingers tucked into his palm, her breath warming his arm.

 

* * *

**San Elijo, CA**

 

A giggle erupted from Ginny’s mouth as she swung around the bannister, nearly losing her grip and tumbling to the ground as she went.

Okay. Maybe, possibly, Ginny might have had one too many drinks this evening. One or four. It was hard to tell. Evelyn made sure to refill her glass every time it was less than half full. Or just in danger of getting there.

Whatever. Who cared? It was New Year’s Eve, drinking too much was basically part of the holiday’s appeal. 

And Ginny didn’t have anywhere left go. Well, nowhere that was more than thirty feet away. Such was the perk of arriving early to an Evelyn Sanders Party™ to help set up; first dibs on the Sanders’ beautiful new guest bedroom. Because it wasn’t enough for Evelyn to host New Year’s; she also had to officially welcome everyone to her new home.

It also meant that Ginny was good and ready to appreciate the hell out of the new memory foam mattress Evelyn had been raving about. Three hours of prep on top of the six hours of party small talk would do that to a girl.

With the living room free of party clutter and leftovers neatly wrapped in the refrigerator, Ginny was finally at liberty to trudge up the beautiful hardwood staircase, her strappy sandals dangling off her fingertips. Her skirt swished around her knees, making her giggle even more; it was certainly pretty, and she liked the way it spun out every time she twisted her hips, but God, did she want to crawl into her pajamas and then right into bed, only to awake for Blip’s famous Sunday (Monday, but who cared, it was a new year) morning pancakes and a Bloody Mary with Evelyn. 

Hair of the dog, right? 

She shuffled down the hall, taking in Evelyn’s exquisite taste—the long runner on the hardwood, the full walls of family photos—as she passed the twins’ rooms and made it to her salvation. 

With a grateful sigh she fell against the door, elbow hitting the latch so she could swing right through. 

There was no more swinging. When Ginny hit the door, it didn’t budge. Neither did the handle. Not even when she jiggled it angrily.

She stumbled back, more from annoyance and surprise than any lingering champagne in her bloodstream. Incredulous, she stared at the locked door, wondering if someone was seriously getting it on in her beautiful, clean bed. (Evelyn and Blip’s beautiful, clean bed, yes. But it was Ginny’s for the night.) What other reason would someone have to lock themselves in a bedroom at a party? 

Jesus. This wasn’t some high school house party, everyone desperate for the chance to get into someone’s pants and a taste of privacy. Even if it came in the form of your classmate’s parents’ bedroom.

Ginny rapped on the door, quick and impatient. She wanted to go to bed. Fuck whoever thought a housewarming was a time to... well.  _Fuck_. 

Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long for an answer. 

Thankfully, her first assumption was proven very, very wrong.

Less thankfully, the person who’d locked himself into her room—she’d dibsed it, goddammit!—was none other than Mike Lawson. Dressed for bed.

Or, undressed. 

Her assumption from months ago, that Mike didn’t often find himself wearing pajamas, was proved very, very correct. Standing in the doorframe in just his boxers, Mike Lawson was a fucking vision. One Ginny would’ve blamed on all the champagne if she couldn’t feel his breath stirring her hair. 

She couldn’t say who was more surprised.

“What’re you doing here?” she demanded before he got the chance to open his mouth. She thought he’d left. Not that she’d been tracking him through the party or anything. She hadn’t needed to. They’d spent a lot of it together, shooting the shit out by the fire pit.

“I’m sleeping here,” he replied, frowning.

“No, you’re not. I am.”

She bounced off his bare arm, braced against the doorjamb. He looked down at her, semi-amused. Which was just fucking unfair. He didn’t get to ignore the fact that he was practically naked. Ginny certainly couldn’t. “Beg to differ there, Baker.”

“My bag’s already in there,” she tried, though Mike didn’t seem moved by reason. “Ev told me I had dibs on the guest room.”

“Well, she obviously didn’t tell her husband because he told me I could crash here, and I intend to.”

“Mike, c’mon,” she whined, trying to push past him into the guest room and her promised memory foam. 

“No,” he chuckled, refusing to budge and probably enjoying the feel of her pressing close against him as she tried to get by. Ginny did. Oh, she definitely did. “Go share with one of the twins.”

“They kick.”

“So do you!” 

“It’s not like you complained before!”

He blinked, taken aback just enough that Ginny managed to slip around his bulk. Triumphantly she dove for the bed, wriggling up to the pillows. It was only once she got there, and got a glimpse of Mike’s attention trailing up her bare legs, that she realized how it had made her skirt ride up her thighs. 

There was just enough booze filtering through her system to make her leave her hem exactly where it was. 

She watched Mike swallow and tuck away whatever impulse had crossed his mind for another time. He must have quite the stockpile by now; though she doubted his was anywhere near as impressive as hers. He’d certainly gotten enough practice in the past year. 

Ginny appreciated that, appreciated that his willpower was as strong as hers. Just. Sometimes she wished his control were a little less ironclad. It’d give her a good reason to let hers go too. 

“You know there’s a perfectly good couch downstairs, right?” he asked, voice steady even if his eyes were darker than usual. 

“If it’s so perfect, then you go sleep on it.”

He scowled but dropped the subject. Taking that as a victory, Ginny bounded—or as close to bounding as her slight inebriation would allow—out of the bed and over to the walk in closet where she’d stashed her overnight bag. 

Of course, once she’d shut herself in to shimmy out of her filmy skirt and the fitted crop top that Evelyn had basically ordered her to wear tonight—“It might be December, but that’s no reason not to look good, G.”—Mike had to start talking again. Ginny focused on his words rather than the fact that her friend must have known Mike was planning on staying the night too.

(That and the fact that only a door separated a mostly naked Mike from a mostly naked Ginny. Which happened basically every day in the clubhouse, but in the clubhouse Ginny didn’t have a bottomless glass of champagne sloshing through her veins.)

“Go tell mom and dad you had a nightmare,” he called through the door. “They’ll probably let you cuddle if you ask nicely.”

Her nose wrinkled, tongue peeking out as she gagged silently. She pulled on her oversized t shirt and shorts quickly and flung open the door to make sure he cold appreciate her reaction. He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, propped against the headboard and looking completely cozy. Even if he had pulled on a t-shirt. “Don’t be gross!”

“You’re basically the third Sanders kid. They could claim you as a dependent if they wanted.”

“That’s not how taxes work,” she pouted, crossing to the bed and diving under the covers before she could decide she liked the way he was looking at her too much to do it at all..

“Ah, right. Tell me all about what a tax expert you are, rookie. How many years have you been paying them, again?”

“Like you’ve done your own taxes in the past decade.”

“I’ve got a guy for that,” he replied airily before looking down at her and frowning. “Are you trying to build a pillow barricade?”

Ginny paused in her construction efforts. That was exactly what she was doing. But Mike sounded so fucking amused by her, like he wasn’t worried about sharing a bed with her. About what he might do in his sleep, when his defenses were lowered.

Like it didn’t matter that the last time they did this, they woke up twined around one another, breath mingling. Sure, she’d put her hand in his before they’d fallen asleep, but that didn’t mean she’d expected to wake up to...  _that_. 

Not that she hated it. Not even close. If she’d hated it, this wouldn’t be a problem.

“No,” she replied, hating the upward lilt of the word. 

He huffed. “So you’re telling me you need all of these to sleep? Jesus, how many are there?”

“Just four,” she returned. Gotta love Ev and her throw pillows. “Unless you’ve got another.”

“Nuh uh, Baker!” he laughed, fending off her grasping hands. The fact that both of her wrists, even just for a moment, fit in the circle of his grip shouldn’t have made her heart pound, but this was where Ginny was at this point. She’d learned to stop questioning every reaction Mike Lawson elicited from her; it just saved time. “Leave this one alone, it’s mine!”

“It’s my room.”

“I beg to differ.”

“My stuff was in here first.”

“Well, my ass was in here first. You snooze you lose.”

“You’re a child.”

He laughed, sudden and loud. Despite herself, Ginny found herself grinning too. “Don’t think anyone’d believe that. Not compared to you.”

“Oh, fuck off,” she bit out, good mood evaporating. Clutching a pillow to her chest, Ginny turned, putting her back to her wall of cushions and, more importantly, Mike. 

He groaned, slouching down and turning off the bedside lamp. Only once they were in the dark—which was really becoming a theme in their relationship, maybe because it was easier to admit to some things in the dark—did he ask, “What’d I do?”

“Nothing.”

“Aw, c’mon. I know I put my foot in it, just tell me how so I know what I’m gonna apologize for.”

Ginny stewed for a moment, feeling the slight dip of the mattress as Mike shifted, too close and too far away all at once.

“‘M not a little kid,” she finally said, hating the fact that she could hear the pout on her lips. “I’m younger than— I’m  _young_ , yeah. But that doesn’t make me some helpless, little—”

“Ginny,” he breathed, making her breath catch. She loved the way her name sounded out of his mouth, almost as much as she loved— Oh, boy. Lying in a bed with Mike Lawson was not the time to let that realization loose. “I know. I know you’re not helpless. I definitely know you’re a grown up.”

It was the rough edge to his voice that made the knot of worry begin to loosen in Ginny’s chest. She was always aware of how much older Mike was than her, how much more experienced he was. It was hard not to when she could remember his poster hanging above her bed, his rookie card tucked into her school planner. It was all too easy to feel like an annoying tagalong, yet another rookie he had to hand hold through the majors. 

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel anything different.”

Ginny sighed and rolled back over. Batting the wall of pillows away until she had a clear view of his face in the dim light of the room, she replied, “You didn’t.” Hesitantly, she reached out and traced over the lines of his face, seeing them in her memory as much as the scant glow from the windows.

The shadows filling in the furrows of his brow lightened with nowhere to pool. He leaned into her palm, just for a second, but long enough for Ginny to wish for the thousandth time tonight that midnight had found her and Mike somewhere dark and private rather than the middle of the Sanders’ living room, surrounded by team and strangers alike. All she’d gotten was a dry brush of his lips against her cheek, the rasp of his beard lingering just a split second longer than his mouth. 

And, to be fair, she did have this. 

Mike’s hand bridged the distance and settled on her elbow, warm and heavy and perfect in all the dark privacy she could ever ask for. Even if neither of them were prepared to cross any other bridges tonight, she’d get to wake up in the morning, the first of 2018, right next to him. Maybe even in his arms.

As Ginny’s eyes drifted closed, she figured that this wasn’t such a bad way to kick off the new year.

 

* * *

**Seattle, WA**

 

If, three years ago—the last time he’d played in Seattle, coincidentally—someone had told Mike that he’d willingly miss a night out after a huge win, he would’ve assumed that he had a sure thing with the hotel concierge. Or both of the hotel concierges.

Or that Rachel had come back.

Not so. And he didn’t even mind the change.

Maybe because three years ago, he had yet to meet Ginny Baker. 

Now that he had, he couldn’t say he loved the fact that he found himself sitting on the floor of a hotel room, one couch cushion graciously ceded in deference to his elderly man’s back, watching rom coms from the 90s.

He did love the company, though.

“Were you even alive when this movie came out?” he asked, pretty sure of the answer and telling himself not to wince when he heard it anyway.

From her blanket cocoon, Ginny sniffed. Then coughed for a solid twenty seconds, a hacking, grating sound that made his own throat hurt. Finally, she rasped, “I don’t know.”

Mike was already moving before she got the words out, filling up yet another glass of water and tearing open another bag of cough drops. She took the water, though her nose wrinkled at the lozenges. 

Hey, it wasn’t his fault she’d already blown through all the cherry ones. Although, he’d already made a mental note to ask a clubbie to run out for more tomorrow.

“Take the cough drop, Baker,” he urged, in spite of the way she whined in the back of her throat. “You’re gonna cough out a lung otherwise.”

Grudgingly, she followed his instructions. If it was going to make her this compliant, Mike would have to find a way to keep her sick all the time. 

Not really. He had a feeling he’d miss her back talk. He already did, if he was being honest. 

Ginny’d been fighting off this cold for what felt like weeks, but no amount of Emergen-C was going to keep it at bay forever. No matter what she told Al or the trainers or even Mike himself. 

It wasn’t until they landed at Sea-Tac airport, though, that her immune system finally folded. 

Thank God she wasn’t slated to pitch until their next series; Mike would’ve pitied the poor schmuck who had to break it to her she was going on the DL, even just for ten days, until she recovered.

If he didn’t feel so bad for her, Mike would be more than a little fascinated. He’d never seen Ginny sick like this; there was so much to learn about Ginny Baker the invalid. 

She liked cherry cough drops and said regular tissues irritated her nose. She wasn’t a bad patient per se, but only because she didn’t quite believe she was a patient at all. If anyone would let her, she’d still try to get her daily runs in, even if she wheezed and coughed through the entire thing. She was basically constitutionally opposed to naps—which Mike could not wrap his head around—no matter how many times her eyelids drooped through reruns of The View. Grilled cheese with tomato soup was her go-to comfort food, though her normally voracious appetite fell off almost completely. 

She was extremely... tactile. 

Mike wasn’t even sure she realized she was doing it. So many of her other defenses were down—words spilling without a second thought from her mouth, face twisting into ridiculous expressions because there were no cameras to capture them—it only made sense others were affected as well. 

The pertinent part of which was not the fact that Ginny probably wanted this kind of physical affection all the time but never asked for it. All that mattered was that she wanted it now. 

The one game she’d managed to sit through in the dugout, too tired to hold herself upright, she’d drooped against whoever was closest. Which, yes, generally happened to be Mike, especially after he saw the way Livan encouraged her to drape herself all over his smirking ass. Anyway, Livan had a game to catch; Mike didn’t. It only made sense that he take over Ginny duty.

A duty that, once he had it, he had no intention of giving up.

Which was why he reseated himself on the ground, leaning against the couch Ginny sprawled on, and tried not to groan as her fingers began spearing through his hair again. 

Tactile, remember?

This wasn’t the first time she’d done this—even when she was healthy she’d been known to play with his hair, if only to tug despairingly at his beard—and maybe one day Mike would stop feeling a funny little jump in his stomach every time her nails scratched against his scalp. That day had yet to come. 

If this was what Ginny needed to feel better, though, who was he to argue?

Yeah, he definitely wasn’t going to argue.

Unless she stopped. He’d definitely work up an argument against that. 

Mike turned back to Ginny the second her fingers disappeared from his hair. 

“You okay?” he checked, looking her over, but seeing nothing amiss. Nothing new, at least. She was still a bit glassy-eyed, cheeks verging on hollow in spite of the fever flush. At least she was lucid. She’d gotten pretty loopy after her first hit of codeine cough syrup.

“’M fine. Just,” she tugged on his shoulder, “c’mere.”

“Where?” Mike eyed her sleepy sprawl and the scant cushion space left.

Ginny huffed and rolled to her side, pressing flat against the back of the couch. She patted the space in front of her, eyes already drifting shut again.

Mike was torn. It was one thing to fall asleep with Ginny all the way across a King size mattress, but to do it pressed together on a too-short hotel room couch, seemed a step too far. 

Which, to be clear, didn’t mean he wasn’t gonna do it. 

Heaving himself up, Mike slid, not nearly tentative enough for his sense of self-preservation, onto the couch cushions. He stretched out beside Ginny and, half-asleep, she automatically burrowed into him. 

He had to let out a heavy exhale when her nose nuzzled unerringly against his neck, arm banding around his stomach. Ginny sighed too and only had to wheeze a little bit around the crud in her throat. When Mike chanced a look down at her, her eyes were barely open, though they were trained faithfully on the screen as Bill Pullman discovered Meg Ryan hiding in a closet. 

Mike wasn’t sure how long it took, but before much more of the movie passed, Ginny’s knee crept over his. If that had been the end of it, he probably could have taken it. Of course, it wasn’t. She wriggled and huffed and sat up to maneuver him into position, only flopping back to his side like there was nothing strange at all about snuggling against him once his arm was tucked around her back to cradle her close. 

Maybe in her fever-addled mind, nothing was. 

To Mike though, it was a struggle not to go completely tense, taut as a high wire, at the feeling of Ginny Baker’s form pressed so closely to his. 

They’d been close before, in huddles and victory hugs, but nothing this intimate. At least not while they were both awake. Sure, maybe he’d woken up a solid half hour before her this past New Year’s to find her attempt at a pillow fort completely decimated by their nighttime migrations. Ginny soft and still asleep was something he couldn’t bear to end before he had to; he was only human, okay? 

Still, he managed to keep his cool in the present. 

If anything, he went completely boneless the second Ginny sighed, soft and sweet against the collar of his flannel. Her arm tightened around him as she settled against his side. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, “for taking care of me.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She hummed at that, broken up by a jaw-cracking yawn. 

“Go to sleep, Gin,” he murmured, only using her nickname because he was pretty sure she wouldn’t remember it and do her best to distance herself when morning rolled around. 

“Can’t,” she whispered back.

“Why not?”

“‘M watching the movie,” she said, even though her face was almost completely buried in his chest.

Feeling warmth wash through him, and not just from Ginny’s shared body heat, he told her, “I’ll tell you how it ends.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah,” Mike breathed. “I promise.”

She didn’t put up any more arguments. She tucked her cheek against his chest, wrapped her fingers into his shirt, like she wanted to make sure he wouldn’t float away in her sleep, and closed her eyes. 

Within a few minutes, her breathing had evened out. Even with the slight wheeze, she looked peaceful. 

Mike still waited another few minutes before leaning down to press a kiss to her sweat-damp hair. Her eyelashes didn’t even flutter. He searched, one handed, for the remote and eventually managed to turn off the TV well before Tom Hanks raced to the Empire State Building searching for his son. He’d seen it all before, he could still tell Ginny the story when she woke up. 

In the dark, Ginny’s chest rising and falling against his, Mike told himself it was in both his best interest to get up. It’d probably be better if Ginny got some sleep in a real bed, but she could and would sleep anywhere sufficiently horizontal. Mike, on the other hand, had grown well past the age that a few stolen hours on a hotel sofa were sufficient for his mind or body. If he didn’t want to give up another start to Livan, he better get his ass to an actual mattress.

He told himself this, but he didn’t listen. 

Instead, Mike closed his eyes and resigned himself to waking up with an aching back. 

If it meant waking up with Ginny, it was a price he was more than willing to pay.

 

* * *

**New York, NY**

 

This couldn’t be happening. Seriously. This could not be happening. 

First, and feeling like her heart was about to beat out of her chest and her breath was coming too fast and not fast enough at all, Ginny patted herself down again, like her room key might magically appear. 

No such luck. 

Next, she spun in place again, turning back to face her door which remained as stubbornly shut and locked as it had been since she first came to herself at the sound of that same door latching shut, leaving her key, her phone, and most of her clothes behind it. 

Last, she peered down the hall towards the stupid courtesy phone. Wasn’t the point of those to have  _someone_  pick up no matter what time it was? Apparently this hotel had not gotten that memo.

Tears began to prickle at the back of her eyes, but Ginny didn’t have time for that. She didn’t have time for crying or panic or fear. Not when she needed to figure out a way back into her room before anyone could find her like this. 

Mostly undressed and stranded in a hotel hallway.

Not, she thought a little sourly, that a sports bra and shorts were inappropriate as sleepwear. There was nothing wrong with wearing what she was comfortable in to sleep. It wasn’t like she asked to be stuck out here. 

Jesus. It would be just her luck if someone caught sight of her and decided this was the perfect opportunity to turn paparazzo. 

Naturally, then, the sound of footsteps, hushed on the thick carpeting, began to approach. It made Ginny want to throw up. Just a little. 

Hunching her shoulders towards her ears, she studied the card reader of her door, praying a miracle would let her in before some stranger recognized her. Or that natural embarrassment would carry them forward without addressing her.

It was hard to tell whether or not her prayers were answered.

“Rook?”

Ginny turned, arms crossed defensively over her stomach even at the familiar tone of her captain. 

He looked a little bleary, like he’d been asleep for a bit, but was woken halfway through a REM cycle. Disheveled and more than a little grumpy, he squinted at her, like he wasn’t sure if he was imagining things or not. 

Before Mike got a chance to question her, Ginny rushed to ask, “What’re you doing up?”

He shook the empty bucket in his hand, which she’d somehow completely overlooked in her defensive awkwardness. “Needed more ice for my knees. Why’re you out here?”

“Um. I got locked out.”

“Oh.” The silence stretched out for a long beat, making Ginny want to melt into the floor. “Well, come on, then.”

Whether it was the fact that he didn’t press her further or Ginny just needed the comfort that even a sleepy, slightly addled Mike Lawson could provide, she didn’t know, but Ginny followed him back to his room. 

He was about to close the door, follow her in when she checked, “Don’t you need more ice?”

He seemed confused for a second before shaking himself. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, be back in a sec.”

True to his word, he was back in flash. Before Ginny’d even had time to do much more than drift further inside his room, arms still crossed over her stomach. 

“Are you cold? You look cold.”

Ginny wasn’t—though her shoulders were shaking, no doubt a side effect of all that adrenaline coursing through her veins—but she didn’t argue. It was probably better for everyone involved if she weren’t half naked in Mike’s presence for much longer. 

There was no telling what either of them would do. 

Without much fuss, Mike rummaged in his suitcase and produced one of his endless flannels, the one he’d worn yesterday that brought out the green flecks in his eyes.

“You want sweats?” he offered. “I’ve got—”

“This is fine,” Ginny replied, balling the too-long sleeves in her hands and suppressing the urge to tuck her nose into the collar and inhale his lingering cologne. The whiffs she already got were doing wonders.

“Okay.”

Ginny shifted. Why was this so strange? It was hardly the first time they’d shown up in each other’s room in the middle of the night, which was a little ridiculous now that she thought about it. “D’you need— Your knees?”

“Right.” Mike sank to the bed and divvied up his haul between two separate bags. Even half-asleep, he was quick and efficient, wrapping the plastic bags in their own towels and settling them on his battered joints. Extra battered today; he’d taken two hits at the plate this afternoon. Only then did he flick his gaze back to Ginny, more alert now. “So, what happened?”

“Sometimes,” she trailed off, feeling embarrassment crawl up her throat. Mike waited her out, eyes assessing and cool, but not judgmental. If she didn’t want to answer, he wouldn’t push her. He’d just bundle her into bed and make sure she got the most of the remaining hours of her sleep. It was that willingness to roll with what she’d give him, no questions asked, that made her say, “Sometimes I sleepwalk. When I’m stressed or whatever. It’s not a big deal. It hasn’t happened in a while, but yeah. That’s what happened.”

Mike took this in, considering. He didn’t press her on the fact that he’d found her on the verge of a panic attack, which was basically the opposite of “not a big deal.” He didn’t push for details or funny stories the way almost anyone else might. He just turned her words over in his head, thinking them over. “Okay. Do you want to go back to your room? Or is it better to stay with someone?”

Ginny honestly didn’t know. Which didn’t stop her from asking, “Do you mind if I stay?”

He didn’t even bother to think this over. “Nope.” He dumped his makeshift icepacks back in the bucket and stiffly pushed himself to his feet with a little groan. “But if you’re looking for my sparkling it, you’re out of luck. I’m going back to bed. Today took it out of me.”

The fact that he even admitted to that, made Ginny’s heart swell. Mike was so insistent on bearing all his pain all on his own, getting him to share even a sliver of how tired and beat down nearly two decades in the major had made him, felt like everything.

She made no argument there, crossing to the unrumpled side of the bed and climbing in. 

As exhausted as they both were, neither of them could seem to find sleep. They each shifted, searching for a comfortable position, and entirely too aware of the person lying beside them. 

Not that she didn’t notice him out of bed too.

Ginny wasn’t sure what it was about the last few weeks, but she couldn’t turn off her Lawson-Sense. Maybe it was the fact that they both knew he was hanging it all up once the season was over. Maybe it was just that three years spent denying and ignoring their feelings had worn down her defenses. Whatever it was, there was something inside her that was constantly conscious of where Mike was in relation to her. 

Usually, it was not nearly close enough. Right now she couldn’t say that, could she?

“Did you know you sleep diagonally across the bed?” he asked, abrupt, into the darkness.

“What?” she laughed. “No, I don’t.”

“Uh, yeah. You do. I think I’ve slept with you often enough to say that you do.”

Ginny inhaled, sharp and surprised. They’d never actually talked about the fact that they did this, kept doing this. Each time it happened, it was like they were pretending it was the first. 

Even if all the times that came before wouldn’t stop running through her head. Even if it was easier now to fall asleep by pretending that Mike was in bed next to her, his steady presence soothing her more effectively than any breathing exercise in the book.

“You haven’t complained before,” she said, a little shaky. 

“Not a complaint,” he returned, “just an observation.”

“Funny time to bring it up,” she muttered.

It was Mike’s turn to laugh. “Not really,” he chuckled, which, she supposed was fair enough. 

“Well, I bet you didn’t know that you always push your feet against mine.”

“That’s all you, Baker.”

“Is not!”

“It is,” he insisted. “You’ve got the coldest toes I’ve ever felt and you always use me as your personal warming brick.”

“Because you’re like a personal space heater. I’ve never slept with someone so hot.”

In the literal sense, it was true. In the metaphoric sense, Ginny could only imagine that it would be. 

Still, she swallowed as the implication of her words settled over them, one more blanket on the bed. A flush swept over her cheeks and down her chest, making her feel a little lightheaded, dizzy at all the possibilities spinning out before them. 

It wasn’t until Mike snorted, though, that Ginny let herself admit it was actually pretty funny. Embarrassing, but funny.

“You still haven’t,” he muttered.

Under the cover of darkness and the thick duvet, Ginny could feel him shift. 

She was still surprised, though, when his pinky brushed up against hers. It felt like she was always the one reaching out first; which was exactly what she’d asked of him. Her breath was in her throat already, but Mike didn’t stop there. His hand covered hers for a breath before twisting and insinuating itself between the mattress and her palm, threading his fingers through hers. With a light tug, he pulled her closer. Ginny went, more than willing.

Settled close, she tipped her face up to him. In the dim glow from the alarm clock, Ginny could make out the shine of his eyes and wet lips. He must’ve just licked them. She wanted desperately to know what they tasted like. By the end of the season, officially Mike’s last, she told herself she would.

“This okay?” he asked, squeezing her fingers like there was something else he might mean. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, squeezing back a silent reply. “For now.”

“For now,” he echoed.

Snuggling into her pillow—and if it brought her shoulder right up to Mike’s, her feet tucked under his ankle, that was pure coincidence—Ginny sighed in contentment, eyes drifting shut.

 

* * *

**La Jolla, CA**

 

There were things, Mike reflected, that you could really only learn about a person by sleeping in the same bed as them. And not just what side of the mattress they preferred or whether or not they snored or talked in their sleep. Little things: like the sounds they made as they stretched out between the sheets for the first time, or how many times they needed to roll over before truly falling asleep. Silly things: like how much they drooled onto their pillow or what embarrassing pajama sets they owned. Ordinary things: like how many blankets they liked or whether they needed to read before falling asleep. 

And while Mike knew the answer to every single one of those questions when it came to Ginny Baker, all of that trivia was nothing compared to the knowledge of what it was like to wake up with her wrapped in his arms and not need to pull away. 

This morning, he didn’t have to pull his arms away from her waist, worrying that his every move would walk her up and send them spiraling into a storm of awkwardness that could ruin them. He didn’t have to take one last inhale of the shampoo in her hair and wrench himself away. 

For the first time, he and Ginny had gone to bed with one another not because of some outside influence, but just because they wanted to. Because they wanted to drift together in the night and wake up twined together. Because they’d waited long enough.

Ginny’s breath puffed steadily against his neck, her arms banded around his middle, and a leg hitched across his thighs. It was like, even asleep, she couldn’t bear to be too far from him. 

Mike could definitely sympathize.

“Gin,” he murmured, too soft to wake her because he wanted more chance to study her like this. Face slack with sleep, peaceful in a way she wasn’t even when she’d worked herself into a groove at the rubber. Her high brow unwrinkled, a smooth expanse of brown skin over dark eyebrows and the inky curve of eyelashes. Her straight, proud nose, set over plush mouth, just begging for a kiss.

Who was he to argue? 

He brushed a feather-light kiss over first the tip of her nose, the apples of her cheeks, and finally the sweet petals of her lips.

“Sweetheart,” Mike whispered, right into her skin. A thrill shot through him. How many times had he wanted to call her that, and now he could? He couldn’t be her teammate forever, but this? This, he could do as long as he lived.

Ginny stirred, brown eyes blinking open even if the pull of sleep still glazed them over. She smiled as she registered his proximity, stretching against him with a languid sigh.

“‘M I?” she slurred, tucking her face into his neck either to escape the early morning sun or to breathe him in.

“Are you what?” he managed as her lips began to explore the border between his beard and bare skin.

“Your sweetheart.”

All the breath in Mike’s body escaped him at that question, far too astute for someone who’d only just woken up. He swallowed, felt the way it pushed his throat against Ginny’s mouth and her tongue darted out for a taste.

“If you want.”

She hummed her assent. She did want. “But what about you? What do you want?”

Mike wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation if he couldn’t look Ginny in the eyes. Even so, he was reluctant to part her from her task and the way every brush of her lips against his skin sent want shuddering straight to his belly.

Nonetheless, he shifted away from her, catching her chin in one hand when Ginny made to close the gap. He’d gotten enough of that—and so much more—last night to at least slake his thirst. He could hold off for now, though Mike doubted he’d be able to last long. There was no such thing as enough kisses from Ginny Baker. 

Fingers curled under her jaw, he lifted her chin until her eyes met his.

Lit up by the mellow gold of the morning sun, Ginny’s eyes were flecked with amber and honey, a glittering complement to the usual dark chestnut. It was the hope, though, that Mike saw shimmering there that made his voice steady as he admitted to his own.

“I want you to be more than that. I want you to be everything, Gin. My sweetheart and best friend and confidante. It already feels like you are."

It took her a few moments to gather herself enough to speak. Her eyes continued to shine, bright and joyful and so, so beautiful. “It feels like you’re mine too.”

“I am,” he promised, “In every way that counts, I’m yours.”

This time, when Ginny leaned up to kiss him, he didn’t stop her. He didn’t stop her as her lips parted beneath his and her tongue stroked into his mouth. He didn’t stop her when she wrapped her legs around his hips and rolled them over. He didn’t stop her even when she pulled away and sat up, the golden glow of the sun bestowing her with an actual halo. 

Whatever Ginny wanted, Mike had no intention of stopping her. 

Why would he? He wanted everything she had to offer. 

And finally, after years of waiting, it was his to have.

 

**Author's Note:**

> That was excessive, but excessive is basically my brand. I'd love to hear your thoughts! (Also: happy belated birthday, Jen!)


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